


The Captain's Tale - continued

by vinyl_octopus



Series: The Captain's Tale [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Merman Martin, SEPs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:46:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinyl_octopus/pseuds/vinyl_octopus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a Tumblr prompt by Fractionally Foxtrot: How about a mer!Martin/Douglas vingette? Anything from their life post fic?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“And don’t forget, next month we’ve got a refresher SEP course.” 

Douglas groaned at the thought of an entire day stuck in lectures, answering stupid questions. “Not again, surely?” 

“Yes, again, Douglas. Because, believe it or not, you have to do them more than once. That’s why they’re called ‘refresher’ courses. And since we’ve had a staff ‘refresh’ in the past year, it seemed about the right time, if we want to keep MJN legal—” 

Douglas opened his mouth— 

“—which we _do_.” Douglas redirected his glare out of the cockpit window. 

“What’s, um… what’s an S.E… thing?” Arthur was hovering behind Carolyn with the coffees Martin and Douglas had asked for twenty minutes previous. 

Douglas accepted the lukewarm cup with a grimace. 

“Safety and Emergency Procedures,” replied Martin, unusually indifferent to his own tepid beverage. “Amongst other things, jumping into a swimming pool in uniform and scrambling into life rafts.” 

Martin’s voice sounded off. Douglas paused in the act of sipping, barely aware of Carolyn chivvying a now over-excited Arthur back into the cabin to deal with lunch-ready passengers. 

“Everything all right there, Captain?” 

“Fine, Douglas.” He sounded anything but. 

Douglas replayed the conversation. Martin’s obsession with rules and procedures was such that he thought he’d love a day of testing and revision. A perfect opportunity to show off. 

He glanced at his senior officer. Martin’s hands were clenched tight around the yoke and he had a definite green tinge to his cheeks. Not his natural submarine glow; this was sickly, emphasised by the worried furrow of his brow. 

He ran over the conversation again. _“…Among other things, jumping into a cold swimming pool…”_

Oh. 

 

***

 

Martin didn’t speak again until they were on the way back home. Douglas switched the engine off and sat back in his seat, one hand on the door. “We’ll sort it out, Martin, don’t worry. I’ll think of something.” 

“I don’t see how.” Martin rubbed a hand over his face and suppressed a sigh as he released his seatbelt. “It’s not like last time. You can’t just fiddle the renewals. We’ve all actually got to show up. It’s not about me; it’s about MJN. I’ll have to resign—” 

“You _won’t._ ” Douglas gripped Martin’s hand with the one he didn’t have on the doorhandle. “I promise. We’ll sort this.” 

Martin let out a noncommittal grunt of disbelief, but trudged into the flat behind Douglas. 

 

Six months, Martin had lasted in his own place. Before Douglas practically begged him to move back in. It hadn’t taken much convincing, though at times like this, as Douglas watched Martin head straight from the front door to the bathroom without even dropping his bag, he wondered whether it had just been the giant spa bath that was the biggest draw card. 

He sighed and took his own bag to their bedroom before stopping off in the kitchen to put the kettle on. The gush and thunder of water filling the bath grew louder as Martin opened the bathroom door and shuffled out, half dressed. 

“Join me?” 

He looked so woebegone, Douglas couldn’t possibly say no. He gave him a reassuring smile and made a show of switching off the kettle. Dumped his jacket and shoes beside the kitchen table as he followed Martin into the bathroom, one hand firmly on his shoulder. 

The water was…. nowhere near as warm as Douglas would like and he let out a manly yelp as he sloshed into the tub. Martin’s fretful lip chewing as he slowly removed his trousers and got ready to join him prevented him making a further issue, though, and he simply settled himself in the furthest bench corner with arms resting on the bath edge, so Martin could tuck himself close when he was ready. 

Often they would make this a romantic interlude; adding scented bubble mix into the water to make things extra slippery and alluringly aromatic. But Martin couldn’t comfortably breathe the soap mixture and today was about a different kind of comfort and togetherness. Douglas watched, a small frown of his own tensing his brow as Martin avoided his eyes and slithered over the side. 

As he’d expected, once submerged, Martin stayed that way; manoeuvring himself so he could clutch at Douglas’s ankle, rubbing his cheek against his hairy calf under the water. It was nice, if a bit like being head-butted by an underwater cat. Contorted as he was, Martin could only fit ¾ of the way into the bath, the rainbow fluke of his glorious tail flipping up over the edge and twitching agitatedly. Not quite knocking the soap off the dish next to the taps. 

Douglas reached down and ran his fingers through the auburn locks floating sensuously in the water by his knee. Scratched soothingly at Martin’s scalp. Martin pushed harder at Douglas’s leg, pressed a kiss against his shin; gripped his ankle a bit tighter. 

They stayed like that for about half an hour before Martin finally undulated his way up to lean against Douglas’s chest; sliding his tail properly under the water with barely a splash and finally letting Douglas embrace him the way he’d wanted to all afternoon. 

Martin couldn’t talk like this, but Douglas could. He murmured reassurances and promises of love as he squeezed Martin’s ribs; kissing him gently wherever he could reach – shoulders, neck, back of the head. 

Martin wrapped his own hands around Douglas’s arms and held on tight. 

Eventually, though, Douglas got too cold and pruny. 

“I’m going to put dinner on, love. I can keep it warm. You stay here as long as you need.” He pressed a final kiss into Martin’s hair, then pushed the button for the jets as he clambered out of the spa and retrieved a towel. Tried not to fret as Martin sank listlessly to the bottom of the bath. 

He’d solve this. He always did. 

 

***

 

He left the soup bubbling on the stove and shot a quick glance at the bathroom, from which not even the sound of the jets could be heard. He wiped his hands on a tea towel, then made his way into the living room where they kept the laptop. Time to do some research. 

Martin stayed in the bath for another two hours, but eventually sidled into the lounge with a meagre bowl of soup and an apologetic look. 

Douglas glanced up from the desk as Martin perched on the sofa. “All right there?” 

“Yes. Thank you, Douglas. Sorry about earlier. I just…” 

“No need to apologise, sweetheart. But… if you’ve finished sulking… I might have an idea.” 

Martin bristled; shifting immediately from downtrodden to indignant. “I wasn’t _sulk—_ ” 

Douglas grinned triumphantly. 

Martin huffed. “Oh, all right then, genius. What’s this plan, then?” 

Douglas picked up the laptop and moved to share the couch, careful not to jostle the bowl of soup Martin was eating slightly more enthusiastically now he had irritation fuelling him. 

“Well… it rather depends. It’s not going to be a _comfortable_ solution but… how _waterlogged_ do you have to be before you—” he waved a hand at Martin’s pyjama-clad legs “—transform?” 

“I’m not…what do you…?” 

Douglas pressed a few keys and showed Martin the website. “If we can keep you dry – or at least relatively dry – we should be able to get you through this.” 

Martin set the nearly empty bowl on the coffee table and leaned over to look more closely at the array of wetsuits. Frowning. 

“I’m….I’m not sure about those. Don’t they still let water in?” 

“They do…but only a thin layer. That’s…why I’m asking. Would this work, do you think? Would it be enough?” 

Martin chewed his lip. “I’m not sure. I… rain is usually fine but…I mean, I tend to avoid splashing in puddles, for instance. I–I don’t know what would happen if I just got my feet wet. I… you remember what happens when I try to use a hand-held shower…” 

Douglas tore his gaze away from the plump, irritated, inviting flesh of Martin’s lip and cleared his throat. “Well, these ones have, uh, feet…boots…if that would help?” 

“It might.” Martin sounded doubtful. Or possibly distracted. 

Douglas looked up and met a heated grey-green gaze. “We’ll have to test it. I know you’ve got a van job, but I can go out tomorrow and rent something in your—” 

Not doubt, apparently. Douglas quickly put the laptop on the floor as he found his arms full of warm, dry, not-currently merman. 

As always, Martin’s well-nibbled lip turned out to be just as delicious and delightful as he’d expected. Douglas ran his hands down Martin’s deceptively muscled, T-shirt-clad back and pulled back a little. 

“Thank you, Douglas,” husked Martin. 

“I haven’t done anything yet.” Douglas bumped his hips up pointedly. 

“Not for that, you git,” laughed Martin, nevertheless kissing Douglas lightly on the lips. “For helping…even trying to help.” 

Douglas squeezed Martin a little. “Don’t be silly. Of course I’m going to help. What is the point of being in a relationship with a sky god if you can’t take advantage of his supreme genius?” 

Martin slapped him lightly on the shoulder and pulled back to sit up on his heels. “Stop it. You know what I mean.” 

Douglas followed him up…and over as he pushed him to fall on his back across the other end of the couch. “I do know what you mean. And you should know by now,” he paused to help Martin untangle his folded legs and then sank down on top of him, “that I would move heaven and earth to help you. Especially to keep you flying, O' Captain, my Captain...”


	2. Chapter 2

The wetsuit…did not work. 

Quite horrifically and agonizingly, did not work. An hour later, Martin was still folded, shuddering, in Douglas’s arms on the floor of the bathroom, swaddled in all the towels Douglas could reach. The angry red welts on his legs had gone down a little, but they were sure to bruise and the skin had broken in places. 

The wetsuit was in shredded tatters on the floor. The most expensive rental Douglas had ever hired, given the fact he now owned its ruined remains and considering how rubbish the suit was in the first place. Although, thinking about it, that was probably to their advantage. Even with kitchen scissors, Douglas doubted a new, high quality suit would have come apart quite as easily as one that was slightly mouldering. 

Still, he’d have paid a thousand times as much never, ever to hear Martin’s squawking keen of pain echoing off the bathroom tiles again. It had taken 10 minutes for his ears to stop ringing, during which time he’d had to coax Martin out of a panic attack. 

He pushed his face a bit further into Martin’s neck and rocked them both gently back and forth. Out of a panic attack, but possibly into shock. Almost certainly cool water would have eased the pain Martin was in, but the poor man was currently far too terrified to venture near the water; to risk transformation. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and Martin closer, trying to rid his memory of the stomach-churning, heart-stopping sight of Martin’s body trying to incorporate the wetsuit into the change. He’d grabbed the scissors in time, but ripping the material from where it was embedded in Martin’s flesh had caused as much pain and damage as the transformation itself. He brushed an apologetic kiss against Martin’s shoulder as he forced himself to look down at Martin’s legs, still splayed and twitching on the floor tiles. There were a few nicks and cuts from the scissors as well as the other injuries. Despite his best efforts, Martin had been unable to stop writhing and thrashing in pain as Douglas frantically sliced at the fabric to free his limbs. He rubbed his cheek against Martin’s curls as if that would help erase the guilt he felt. 

Martin stirred, glassy gaze meeting Douglas’s. “We’ll have to try something else,” he whispered shakily. 

Douglas swallowed his refusal. Bit down the knot of anguish that tightened at the suggestion he let Martin go through anything like this again. He’d promised to keep him flying. 

Back to the drawing board. 

 

***

 

“We could just tell Carolyn,” suggested Martin the next morning, hobbling into the kitchen and settling gingerly on one of the wooden chairs. 

Douglas flipped the sizzling bacon, then turned to get the orange juice out of the fridge, setting it, with a glass, near Martin so he could help himself without having to move too much. 

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” He sliced a tomato in half and added it to the pan, then dropped another couple of bread slices into the toaster. 

“She’s known me nearly two years, Douglas. If I can’t trust her—” 

“It’s not Carolyn I’m worried about.” Douglas checked the pan again then turned to Martin. “Once Carolyn knows, despite her best efforts, it would likely only be a matter of time before _Arthur_ finds out.” 

“Well Arthur’s not going to—” 

“— _Arthur_ , who as sweet-natured as he might be, can’t keep a secret for more than two minutes.” 

“Well…” 

“And whose father makes our old friend Jack look like the world’s greatest philanthropist.” 

“Ah.” Martin put his half-drunk juice back on the table. Douglas tilted his head and pushed the toast down as he finished frying up their breakfast. 

“Besides which,” Douglas slid two plates out of the oven where they’d been warming and began serving up, “I doubt there’s anything Carolyn could do. We’d just be putting her on the spot. You said it yourself: MJN needs us to attend and pass these tests. Knowing how penny-pinching Carolyn is, if she could have found a way to avoid them, she would have done.” 

Martin looked unconvinced as Douglas plonked an overladen plate of eggs, bacon, tomato and mushrooms in front of him. 

“We’ll sort it out, Martin. I promised you, and I meant it.” Douglas ducked back over to the kitchen island to retrieve the freshly popped toast. “But if we can possibly find a way to do it that doesn’t involve you suffering through screaming agony, that would really be ideal.” 

If Douglas’s hand was a little shaky as he passed Martin his share of the toast, neither of them said anything. 

 

***

 

“For goodness sake, Martin. Why are you telling me this NOW?” Carolyn’s outrage carried clear through the flimsy walls of the Portakabin to the tarmac where Douglas was about to ascend the stairs. “We’re doing the tests in a week. What do you expect me to do about it?” 

Douglas stood in the doorway; paper under one arm, a coffee in each hand, watching as Carolyn unleashed the full strength of her irritation at Martin. He was surprised the poor man’s hair wasn’t actually blowing back from the force. 

Arthur lumbered up behind him, hands wrapped contentedly around a large hot chocolate. “Gosh. Mum looks cross.” 

“Doesn’t she just?” Douglas shuffled further into the room. 

“I suppose you knew about this?” Carolyn snapped as he drifted inadvertently into her line of sight. Or line of fire. 

Martin blinked apologetically as Douglas raised a questioning eyebrow and deposited both takeaway cups on the desk between them. 

“Well how did you get round it last time?” Carolyn put her hand up before Martin could stammer a response. “I don’t care. Just put some ear plugs in or something. For heaven’s sake. A problem with your inner ear, indeed. You can fly, can’t you?” 

“I—” 

“A bit of water’s not going to hurt you, Martin.” 

She didn’t seem to notice the way either Martin or Douglas flinched. 

“No one’s going to ask you to swim the English Channel. You’ve just got to prove you can swim and carry out instructions. You probably won’t even have to put your head under. If you do it properly you’ll be in and out in a couple of minutes. I’m sure your delicate ears can handle that.” 

“They’ve certainly handled worse,” muttered Douglas as Carolyn slammed her way back into her office. Discussion closed. 

“What did you…?” 

“I thought I read something about exemptions to-to the water drill,” said Martin, slumping into the desk chair. 

Douglas slid one of the coffees over to within his reach. “Read or imagined?” He propped one hip on the edge of the desk and peeled the lid off his own coffee. 

“Either. Doesn’t matter.” Martin stared morosely at the plastic lid of his cup. “She didn’t go for it, as you heard.” 

“No. Well she wouldn’t.” Douglas sipped thoughtfully. 

”It was the only thing I could think of. That or some kind of allergy. I’m running out of time.” 

The heat of the coffee helped melt Douglas’s guilt over this. A little. He’d been more reluctant than Martin to experiment further. 

“Don’t you like swimming, Skip?” They’d both forgotten Arthur was still there. 

“No, I do,” Martin hid a smile in his coffee. “I just have a bit of trouble with the, uh, water.” 

“Oh.” Arthur nodded understandingly, a bit of marshmallow clinging to his lip. “I guess we can’t really do the water drill without the water.” 

“No,” agreed Douglas, getting to his feet. “That does rather seem to be the consensus. Never mind, Martin. Other things to worry about now. Like this afternoon’s flight.” 

“Oh. Yes.” Martin shook his head and gathered the papers he needed to fill out their flight plan. “Can you… do the walk around, Douglas?” 

“Of course, sir. Arthur? Everything ship-shape in the galley, is it?” 

“Aah.” Arthur carefully licked the marshmallow off his lip and wiped the guilty look off his face, then dashed out the door. 

“See you on board, Captain.” Douglas doffed his cap teasingly, then gathered their flight bags to stow on the plane, clipboard under one arm.


	3. Chapter 3

It had taken Martin a week or so to venture back into the bath after the trauma with the wetsuit. But with just under a week to go before the tests, Douglas was finally trying some of his more dubious plans. After the failed cling wrap experiment, the Vaseline was something of a last-ditch effort. 

Martin had been rightfully dubious. Possibly lanolin would have been better, but the main problem was the fact that either lotion tended to…rub off. 

Douglas compensated by smearing an extra-thick layer over Martin’s lower half. 

“I don’t think long-distance swimmers use Vaseline to stay _dry_ , Douglas,” Martin said with a laugh as Douglas slathered his leg liberally and thoroughly with the oily jelly. 

“Maybe not. But it ought to form a barrier between your skin,” he rubbed a thick handful of gloop into Martin’s inner thigh, ignoring the unsteady exhale above him “and the water. Which is really all we’re looking for.” 

He discarded a second empty tub and opened a new one, straightening up a bit from where he was knelt in front of Martin, who was standing next to the already-filled bath. “Right. Legs done.” He eyed Martin’s groin speculatively and scooped out another dollop, holding out the jar to Martin as he smeared the gel onto the naked hip before him. “Do you want to do the… _other bits_ …or will I?” 

The words puffed warm air over Martin’s already interested crotch; the act of rubbing in the jelly not entirely accidentally causing him to sway a little closer to Douglas. Martin let out a little moan and Douglas watched with feigned indifference as Martin hardened; even as he scraped another glob from the tub and smoothed it unnecessarily luxuriously over Martin’s buttocks. 

He grinned as Martin flushed, almost completely erect now and in danger of poking Douglas in the eye. “Well, that certainly makes it easier to get to everything, sir.” 

Martin brought both his clenched fists up to his eyes in a pathetic attempt to hide, nevertheless letting out a guttural groan as Douglas ruthlessly lubed him up from root to tip – paying teasing attention to the head – before nudging his legs further apart and slathering his scrotum and undercarriage with deliberate focus. 

He finished with a quick gooey slide of his hand between Martin’s buttocks, “To get all the cracks and crevices,” and a careful swipe under each foot and between his toes. 

“All right, sir… let’s see if this works.” Douglas stood to help Martin, with his now dangerously slippery feet, make his way to slither under the water. 

As it happened, the petroleum jelly worked quite well for a few minutes. Though Douglas was only able to pay attention for one of those minutes; the very act of slathering Martin from toe to waist had got him far too worked up to be able to concentrate much longer on the experiment and he quickly stripped and joined his watery lover in the bathtub. 

They had a couple of minutes of delightfully slippery underwater writhing against each other, before Martin stiffened in an entirely different way and transformed in Douglas’s arms. Whether it was because the Vaseline had….rubbed off…or didn’t work in the first place, or because Martin got distracted and sank a little too deep in the water, they never worked out. 

The only side-effect, post-transformation seemed to be the oozing of jelly from under Martin’s scales, but if the sensuous undulations and frantic grinding and kissing that resulted from Douglas massaging the excess off his tail were anything to go by, Martin by no means regarded this as a drawback. 

They were still panting ten minutes after the bath had run dry. Neither of them in any state to actually get out of the bath. Both of them needing another wash. 

Martin flipped over with a squeak of skin against enamel, burying his face against Douglas’s chest. “That was incredible.” 

“Unf,” replied Douglas, infinitely eloquent in his drowsy, satiated state. 

“It would never have worked, though.” Martin drew a teasing circle around Douglas’s nipple with an idle finger. “Even without… _that_ …” he tilted his hips meaningfully, “my clothes would have rubbed everything off before I even got in the pool.” 

“Mmmm.” Douglas’s hand, previously resting on Martin’s back, drifted down to squeeze a plump, slightly sticky buttock. “Yes. I know.” 

“You already thought of that?” 

“Of course I did, Martin. It was fairly obvious.” 

“So then, why…?” 

Douglas opened an eye and looked down at Martin, sprawled and relaxed. “Fun though, wasn’t it?” 

Martin snorted. “You rascal.” He bit a nipple in defence. 

“Humph.” Douglas smirked and pulled Martin a little closer. “Complaining?” 

Martin shifted so he could grind his very interested lower half against Douglas’s thigh. He was still a little Vaseliney. “Not even a little bit.” 

“Hmm, thought not.” Douglas opened his other eye and leaned down to kiss his lover, subtly pressing his thigh harder into Martin’s groin and encouraging him to take his pleasure. 

 

***

 

“So who are these people we’re taking to Reykjavik, anyway? What’s all the cargo they wouldn’t trust us to load?” 

“Bunch of divers, apparently.” Carolyn sniffed. “Making a film, or a documentary or something. They were quite determined about how their equipment had to be stowed. I left them arguing with Dirk.” 

“Huh,” said Martin, his feelings about Dirk already a running joke. 

“Diving in Iceland?” asked Arthur, wandering in from the galley. “Isn’t that a bit… I mean… wouldn’t that be cold?” 

“No,” said Douglas, just as Martin said, “Yes.” 

Douglas raised an eyebrow. “They’re famous for their thermal springs, Martin.” 

“And rightly so.” Martin scratched out some more notes on the clipboard in front of him and checked another dial. “Doesn’t mean the bits outside the springs aren’t bloody cold.” 

“Between 2 and 4 degrees,” confirmed Carolyn. 

Both her pilots looked around in surprise. “Go cold water diving a lot, do you, Carolyn? Is this another of _Herc’s_ vaunted hobbies?” Douglas’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. 

She scowled. “Who do you think the _customers_ were rabbiting on to about their precious equipment before Dirk arrived? Not to mention the lecture I endured when they first booked. ‘Enthusiasts’ is putting it mildly.” 

“Two degrees?” said Arthur. “That’s, I mean, wow. But that’s really cold.” 

“And why they have special equipment,” said Martin. 

“Wetsuits,” said Douglas, knowingly, and admirably not flinching. “Keep you pretty warm when you’re diving.” 

“Not at that temperature, apparently,” said Carolyn. “They’ve got special ones,” she flapped her hand. “What do you call them?” 

“Drysuits,” said Martin, still concentrating on his paperwork. “ _Oh_.” He looked up at Douglas. 

“Interesting,” said Douglas. 

“ _Brilliant_ ,” said Arthur.


	4. Chapter 4

Douglas had managed to corner their diving enthusiasts for a good ten-minute chat about diving gear. Carolyn had interrupted them during the additional twenty minutes after that, during which the dive leader went into even greater detail about the best cold water diving sites in Iceland. 

But now was the real test. Well…pre-test. Douglas had managed to procure a drysuit, paying extra to get one with boots and gloves included – ones with proper seals – and upgrading further to ensure they got one with a slightly easier fastening mechanism across the front, rather than the awkward sealed zip across the back of the shoulders. 

It had still taken Martin a good ten minutes, with Douglas’s help, to get into the damn thing. 

“I feel ridiculous.” Red-faced, ruffled, and fluffy-haired, Martin looked like a grumpy teenager. 

Douglas almost injured himself trying not to let his lips twitch. “You look beautiful.” He kissed Martin on the nose and received a pouting scowl in return. 

Actually, Martin didn’t look too bad in the suit. It clung, of course, and was hardly the height of fashion or sex appeal. But where, on Douglas that might have drawn unwanted attention to areas of his body that had sagged or thickened with age, on Martin’s skinny frame it merely added an impression of lean muscle. 

If it wasn’t for the way Martin was fidgeting, and the fact that he himself was sweating with nerves, Douglas might have found the outfit quite distracting indeed. 

Instead, he grabbed the scissors and brandished them at Martin. “All right, Neptune. In you go. Slowly, though. And really, let me know the _second_ you feel—” 

“—I _know_ , Douglas. It will be fine. We checked. The boots were fine. No water got in when I only had it half on.” 

A drizzle of guilt for making Martin worry in an already stressful situation ran down Douglas’s throat. Compounding the guilt he already felt for causing Martin pain the last time. 

“I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He kissed Martin on the nose again. Martin wrinkled it in irritation, but put a calming hand on Douglas’s arm. 

Douglas tightened his grip on the scissors. “It’s just that this suit isn’t going to come off anywhere near as quickly as the wetsuit. Even with these. So, please. For me, if not for you. Slowly. Carefully. And try to concentrate on how everything…. _feels_.” 

Martin squeezed Douglas’s arm, but said nothing. Let his arm drop, then sat on the edge of the bath, ready to swing his legs over. 

Douglas shuffled up behind him. One hand held steadyingly on Martin’s shoulder. 

It wasn’t clear which one of them he was steadying. 

Martin swung one leg over the spa edge and let his foot drop into the water. 

Then jolted under Douglas’s grip. “Douglas? That hurts.” 

“Well, then, for God’s sake!” Heart pounding, Douglas leaned to pull Martin back. 

“Not the water, Douglas, your _hand_!” 

“My? Oh.” Douglas released the death grip he had on Martin’s shoulder. Huffed as Martin made a show of rolling it in exaggerated relief. 

Martin turned his head to press a kiss against the nearest bit of Douglas he could reach. His hip, as it happened. “It’s fine. All of it.” He splashed the other leg into the water. Then levered himself down to sit. 

“It feels…” 

“What? What can you feel?” The scissors were slipping in Douglas’s sweaty grasp. 

“No, nothing. Just this. I can’t feel the water. I can’t feel the change. I’ve got _legs_ Douglas! Underwater!” He made a little kicking motion like an excited toddler in his first paddling pool; sending a few waves across the spa. “It feels weird.” 

“Just…be careful.” Douglas relaxed a notch, but kept a wary eye on the sloshing water. 

Martin turned around to kneel on the floor of the spa, leaning over the edge towards Douglas. 

“It’s _fine_. We checked all the seals, multiple times. If we’re going to do this, I need to test it properly. You can’t tell me the water drill is going to require me to sit stationary at the side of the pool.” 

“No…” Would that he could. “But you can’t exactly swim lengths in here, Martin.” 

“No, but I can flail about a bit. We’ve got to be sure this thing holds up to movement.” 

“But what if…?” 

“I trust you, Douglas. This is my risk to take. But I know you’re here. I am safe as I can be for this.” 

Douglas deflated. A little calmer since Martin had now been submerged for several minutes and showed no signs of changing. 

“Have at it, then.” He waved his scissors in the general vicinity of the bath, but didn’t put them down. 

Martin gave him an absolutely blinding grin as he flipped himself back in a contorted arc and disappeared under the water with a splash. 

A moment later Douglas was drenched by the almighty wave that Martin kicked at him. He was too busy wiping water from his eyes to appreciate the twists and turns and general childish jumping about Martin was somehow achieving in the – rather restrictive, even if it was large for its size – spa. 

True to promise, the suit, and its seals, held firm. Martin remained fully limbed and human. 

“Not sure about the throat, though,” Martin admitted, draping himself over the side with a gasp twenty minutes later. “I think I’m a bit damp around the neck.” 

Douglas looked up from the small lake he was sitting in on the floor. Scissors long since discarded to the safety of the vanity unit. 

“Well, in that case, we should probably get you out of that now…and on Monday you’ll just have to try not to dip your head under.” He stood up and looked around the well-splashed bathroom. “Hold tight for a minute. I’m going to get some more towels.” 

In an effort to save the carpet in the rest of the flat, Douglas slipped out of his sodden attire where he stood, ignoring Martin’s cheeky wolf whistle as he ambled out to the linen cupboard in nothing but his soggy pants. 

“Right,” he said upon his return, the scene of the destruction somehow worse with refreshed eyes. “Too wet in here for you, I think. Hop out, and dry off what you can while you’re still in the suit. We might try stripping you off in the kitchen. Where the floor is a bit drier.” 

Martin managed a vaguely convincing sheepish look as he clambered out of the much emptier spa and looked around at the streams of water cascading towards the floor drain; the rivulets pouring down the walls and cabinets. “Oh. Um… oops?” 

Douglas chuckled, tossing him a towel from the doorway. “As long as you had fun.” 

Martin dried the boots of his suit carefully and wiped the worst of the water from running off the rest of it. “I…I did, actually.” 

Douglas’s answering grin was all relief and he made his way further into the kitchen. He was a little light-headed now the stress had gone. “Well come out here, then. I’ll help you get that off.” He shot a quick glance out the window where the neighbour’s garden was visible over the fence. “I’ll just shut these.” He pulled the curtains. 

“Bit late for that.” Martin laughed as he wandered through. “You know your pants are completely see-through when they’re wet?” 

Douglas looked down at the wet, clinging, and yes, transparent underwear that left nothing to the imagination. “Ah. Well. Never mind. It’s not _my_ body I was worried about them seeing.” He stepped over to where Martin was sat on a kitchen chair, carefully rubbing one of the towels over his hair. 

“Oh,” said Martin, looking up, his damp mop endearingly disordered and not yet dry enough to frizz. 

Douglas leaned down to kiss him, simultaneously helping to draw the stiff zip undone across Martin’s torso. He ran a hand over Martin’s chest. The skin was clammy… but not wet. 

Martin shuddered as they pulled apart and ran his own hand down his neck, checking how far the water had leaked. 

Douglas helped him release the gloves and tug the suit down and off his arms, narrowly avoiding an accidental punch to the face as Martin struggled to pull free of the tight material. 

In the bright light of the kitchen, he could just make out the faintest scaling and slight greeny tint to Martin’s throat… but nothing anyone who wasn’t his lover would notice. 

Martin flexed his fingers; bone dry, not a hint of webbing. 

He stood up to peel the suit off the rest of the way, nearly losing his balance. 

“I think this is a two-person job, Martin,” said Douglas. “Hang onto the table or something.” 

Martin turned to grip the edge of the pine table. Half-bent to hold his balance as Douglas pulled the suit, hard, down his legs and forced off first one boot, then the other, to remove the suit in one piece. 

He swatted Martin’s cold, naked bottom. The pleasingly crisp _slap_ was accompanied by an affronted squeak. 

“Well,” he flipped the suit the right way out and looked at it appraisingly. “I think we can call that a success.” 

“Yes,” said Martin thoughtfully, straightening up and absently rubbing where Douglas had smacked him. Unselfconscious about his nakedness as he so often was when he forgot to think about it. 

Douglas admired the view as Martin propped both hands on his hips and surveyed the discarded outfit hanging over the back of a chair. 

“It should fit under my uniform easily enough…” 

“Well, especially since Carolyn couldn’t be bothered to get you one that fits properly,” agreed Douglas. 

“Just not sure about the boots, though. I won’t be able to put my shoes on over the top…” 

“Martin, nobody is going to be worried about your feet. The suit’s black. As long as you’re not wearing flippers—” 

“—or a tail?” 

“—Quite. As long as… _that_ … I don’t think anyone will even look at your feet.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” Martin still looked a bit doubtful. 

“Martin,” Douglas said softly, moving closer to catch him under the chin, “It will be fine.” 

Martin released a breath. “I hope so.” 

Douglas kissed him. “Trust me.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Martin?” Carolyn interrupted Arthur’s third wrong answer as she caught Martin’s eye in the rear view mirror. “Are you all right?” 

“Fine. Fine. I’m fine…why?” 

“You look a bit—” 

“Just hot! I’ll, uh… I’ll just…” Martin wound down the window and refrained from sticking his head out into the bliss of rushing air cold air as they raced alarmingly down the motorway. 

“Well you’re layered up for the arctic, you berk, I’m not surprised. Honestly I don’t understand—” 

“Never mind that now,” Douglas cut in smoothly as Martin rubbed self-consciously at the neck of the dry suit that was sticking out above the collar of his shirt. “What’s the actual plan for today?” 

“Same as last time, I should think. Lecture first,” Douglas squeezed Martin’s hand as he let out a pained whimper, “followed by the pool drill and then the exam and Martin if you’re going to be sick tell me now so I can pull over.” 

Douglas blinked at this non sequitur, turning to face his beloved who was indeed looking a bit pale and squeamily green. Under the guise of checking his temperature, Douglas ran a soothing hand over Martin’s hair. “Bit carsick, sir?” 

“Mmm. And a bit…” 

“You’re not nervous are you, Skip?” Arthur was appallingly chirpy for someone about to go through (and undoubtedly fail) an exam he wasn’t even required to take. “You know everything. You’ll be fine!” 

“I’m sure I will, thank you, Arthur.” Martin managed a half grin and turned back to face the window; shifting in obvious discomfort. 

 

Thankfully the testing centre lecture theatre was reasonably well air conditioned, so despite overheating in his concealed drysuit Martin seemed to rally quite well and returned to his usual pedantic and snarky form once discussion got underway. Douglas could almost have been fooled into thinking he was relaxed, if he couldn’t see the fine tremors running through his captain’s arms as they stood on the edge of the pool an hour later. 

The first part of the drill went smoothly enough; Douglas deployed the lifeboat and Arthur and Carolyn managed to make it into the water and swim to “safety” with no problems, even allowing for the cumbersome and hideous lifejackets. But as he gripped the edge of the inflated boat, Douglas realised Martin was still dithering on the edge, stammering about ear plugs. 

The piercing whistle and sharp shout from the instructor had Martin flailing before he threw himself into the water… and sank like a stone. 

 

It took Douglas precious seconds to recognise there was a problem – he was used to seeing Martin disappear underwater for minutes at a time – but of course this time there was no flirty flash of gleaming tail. As his heart stopped beating and he forgot to breathe, he suddenly realised Arthur had slipped back in the water and dived under to pull Martin to the surface. 

Wrong to see the steward’s normally cheery face grim and worried. 

Martin wasn’t breathing. His lifejacket was flapping around him, still uninflated. 

Douglas hit restart on his body and launched himself over to assist Arthur in dragging Martin out of the pool. Vague memories of medical training, and more recent first aid courses leapt to the forefront of his mind as he hauled off his own life jacket, shoved Arthur out of the way and, ignoring the shouts and commands around him, began CPR. 

Martin coughed and spluttered and brought up half the pool… and Douglas rolled him into the recovery position, thinking he had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life. He sat back on his heels and rubbed a shivery hand over his face, gasping for his own breath; staring up at the bright lights in the ceiling and tried to tamp down the panic. As Martin coughed and coughed and the on-site nurse finally got close enough to check him over. 

Distantly he could hear the nurse complaining about the suit under Martin’s clothes, hindering any proper medical inspection. While Martin croakily protested his good health, Douglas managed to mutter something about chlorine allergies, but his voice echoed strangely and didn’t sound like his own and everything felt like it was taking place outside his body. 

The ringing in Douglas’s ears was interrupted by a _flomp_ as Carolyn threw a blanket across his shoulders. He shuffled back a little to give the nurse more room, and Arthur knelt a little closer, one hand on Douglas’s back. “That was brilliant, Douglas.” His voice was muted as he looked at Martin, and Douglas could see the normally bouncy steward was shaken up. 

He twisted a little to grab his hand and squeeze it reassuringly. “No, Arthur. I think _you_ were brilliant. I…I rather froze.” 

“Never mind that,” Carolyn’s voice was deceptively gruff as she emerged from behind them, tightly wrapped in her own blanket, he noticed, and worried creases near her eyes belying the tone of her voice. “Is Martin all right?” 

The man in question was sitting up now, though staring between his bent knees at the concrete. His deflated lifejacket and suit jacket were in a puddle next to him. He clutched the blanket around him and Douglas had never seen him look so small. 

“He’s fine,” the nurse said gently, packing up his own bag and patting Martin reassuringly on the back. “Ought to take it easy for the next couple of days though. I wouldn’t recommend fin—” 

“No!” 

Martin’s husky voice pierced something inside of Douglas even as he watched Carolyn nod in understanding of what the nurse had been cut off from saying. 

“Martin, we can come back and do this again.” 

Martin was shivering now. “No. We can…I want to finish today. That is…if I haven’t. Oh god. I haven’t failed, have I?” 

“Let’s not worry about that now,” said Douglas, shrugging off the blanket and leaning forward to help Martin up, gathering Martin’s discarded jackets in a soggy handful. 

“No, but we have t-to—” 

They were all standing now, and Martin was trying to pretend he wasn’t using Douglas as a support. 

“Sir, I really wouldn’t recommend carrying on.” The nurse was adamant. “You breathed in a lot of water. It would be dangerous to do the next half of the exam. Your lungs—” 

“I’ll b-be fine. Douglas?” Martin looked up, bloodshot eyes beseeching. “I’ll be fine.” 

Douglas sighed. He didn’t want to go through this again any more than Martin did. “Let’s get cleaned up and into warm _dry_ clothes and see how we feel after lunch, hmm?” 

He squeezed Martin a little closer, then made a show of helping him towards the change rooms, Carolyn nodding in their wake and clearly ready to call the rest of the day off. 

For once, Arthur worked out the two pilots wanted a little privacy and made quick work of changing and leaving the locker room where Douglas was still gently patting Martin dry with a towel. 

As soon as they were alone, Douglas pulled Martin into a bone-crushing hug, only releasing him when he realised Martin, with his tortured lungs, could barely breathe. 

They pulled apart and Martin ran a hand sadly and wonderingly down Douglas’s face. “I’m sorry, Douglas,” he said, examining the tears on his fingers that Douglas hadn’t even realised he was shedding. “I just… I forgot.” 

“Forgot?” 

“I panicked. I… when I landed in the water. Douglas…” Martin’s breath was getting short and panicky again and Douglas wrapped and arm tightly around him, pushing a kiss firmly into his hair. “Douglas, I couldn’t _swim_!” 

Douglas inhaled sharply, pulling Martin closer. “Oh, god. Of course.” Of course he couldn’t. How would he ever have practised swimming in human form? How the _hell_ had Douglas not thought of that detail? 

Martin slumped against him and Douglas could feel the shivering had increased to full shaking. It was debatable whether it was him or Martin. Possibly both. Again. “I couldn’t swim, and everything was heavy and I just… I forgot I wouldn’t be able to breathe so I…” 

“I’m sorry, Martin. I’m so sorry. I didn’t even…” Douglas kissed him again. And again. “I didn’t even think.” 

“Oh, god.” Martin pulled away and sank his face into his hands, with a mournful laugh. “And now I have failed the exam. The _pool drill_ of all things. They’ll stop us… well, me. They’ll stop me flying, Douglas.” 

“Ah. Well… That I might actually be able to help with.” Douglas removed the pin from the wing of his collar and used it to pierce a number of subtle holes in the life jacket. It took a bit more effort than he expected. 

“Now. Let’s get you out of this uniform. And… keep that suit on, I want to get you under some hot water. Warm you up after that shock. And then we’ll dry off and see where we’re at. All right?” 

Martin nodded listlessly and allowed Douglas to help him out of his clothes, watched him strip out of his own, then joined him under the hot water of the shower. Thank goodness they had the place to themselves. He even let Douglas wash his hair for him, which was surprisingly soothing and was just comforting enough to calm them both down. 

 

Eventually they made it back out to the lunchroom. 

Martin spent 20 minutes hoarsely arguing his case with Carolyn as he nibbled the soft filling out of his quiche. 

Douglas was careful not to remark on the fact that Carolyn was apparently willing to wear the costs of cancelling and rebooking the test… 

…but not so willing that she didn’t ultimately let Martin win. 

The smoke-filled fuselage did not, as it turned out, pose any problem. Particularly since Arthur had been banned from volunteering in this section, and because Douglas had been selected to lead. They were in and out in two minutes and Douglas would admit to no one that his legs were like jelly with the relief of it. Though the way he sank gratefully into the comfortable seats of the conference room ready for the oral exam was probably a bit of a giveaway. 

Of course Martin excelled at the verbal exam. And Douglas wasn’t far behind. 

But at the end they were told they hadn’t passed. 

And after last time, when Douglas got them off on a technicality, the director was not particularly keen to let them talk their way out of a second failure. After all, there was no way they could convince him _Martin_ wasn’t a necessary crew member. 

“I’ve got notes on your company from last time, Carolyn. Now, if there’re only 3 of you on staff, bit of a problem if your captain can’t even swim.” 

“But- but I can!” Martin spluttered. 

“All evidence to the contrary, sir. I just watched you drown.” 

“Ah, yes, “ Douglas cut in with a flinch, forestalling whatever ill-advised defence Martin was going to make. “But the pool is chlorine. We _did_ tell you before we started that the captain is allergic to chlorine.” 

“Well then, he’s hardly fit to—” 

“How often do you imagine we are at risk of crashing into a swimming pool? He’s fine in the sea. Swims like a fish.” 

“Well that’s hardly the—” 

“And there’s the small matter of the life jacket.” 

“He didn’t inflate it. That’s—” 

“Didn’t or couldn’t? How often do you check the equipment here?” 

“Every month! What are you suggesting?” 

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m saying. His life jacket didn’t inflate. Check it. It’s still in the locker room. You gave us faulty equipment. You, in fact, endangered our lives beyond the purview of this course.” 

“I…” 

 

They’d only needed another half hour before they were granted a pass. Grudgingly. And with very suspicious looks from the director. 

Carolyn had moaned about having to find a different test centre for next time, but pointedly didn’t comment when Martin, exhausted and coming down from shock, fell sleep in the back of the car on the way home… Not even when he curled himself under Douglas’s arm and snuggled up. Not even when Douglas spent the remainder of the trip with his face buried in his co-pilot’s hair. 

In the end, as Arthur proclaimed, it had all worked out (close enough to) brilliantly.

**Author's Note:**

> Update! 26/03/2014 Two lovely people have made art of this fic series!  
> For all your mermartin illustration needs PLEASE check:  
> Jessica Mariana's gorgeous coloured scenes [here](http://jessicamarianaart.tumblr.com/post/80668549704).  
> And skygosh's fantastic sketches [here](http://skygosh.tumblr.com/post/73711072941/i-will-draw-500-mermartins-u-dont-think-i-will)
> 
> Thank you both!


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